


Unextraordinary

by arrow (esteefee)



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, April Showers, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-03
Updated: 2009-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:25:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser needs his hat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unextraordinary

The moment it happens is unextraordinary, almost completely mundane.

Fraser is watching Ray have yet another heated altercation with the 27th's candy machine. Seemingly unconscious of being observed, Ray shifts his weight to one leg, cants his hips, and uses the side of his motorcycle boot to swing a rough kick against the already-battered corner of the hapless object.

"Give it up, you goddamn....quarter-muncher!"

Fraser's short bark of laughter is completely involuntary, yanked out before he can stop it. He catches himself on the second one so it cuts off, sounding more like a cough. But Ray is already turning toward him, a sly grin on his face. He enjoys it when Fraser laughs. Fraser knows it, but has never quite managed to adapt his behavior to accommodate—too many years of applied solemnity. Being a Mountie, Fraser would tell Ray if he asked, requires a certain decorum.

But Ray doesn't ask. It's yet another of the unspoken understandings between them. And, watching the knowing smile twist Ray's lips, Fraser suddenly realizes Ray relishes the challenge of breaking his decorum, and that Fraser already knew it. It was the real reason he'd never endeavored to adapt his behavior.

His sudden awareness of the depth of their game makes Fraser freeze in panic. He remembers the first time he saw a glacier, how the perspective of it twisted his eye, so that what appeared to be a pretty hill of blue ice became a soaring, encompassing weight; what seemed merely to be a crack revealed itself to be a twenty meters wide crevasse when his perspective finally shifted to accommodate the vastness of the object.

That is Ray, Fraser realizes—all that Ray has come to mean to him. He tells himself he didn't know when it became so—how did it get to be so huge? So much a part of him he can no longer see anything else?

He looks at Ray again, at the jut of his slender hips, the easy looseness of his stance. Ray is eating his hard-won candy bar, and Fraser can almost taste the chocolate that lingers on the edge of Ray's lip.

Fraser wants.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&lt;&lt;&lt;

For all that the moment that inspired it was unremarkable, the epiphany itself is somewhat terrifying, and over the next few days Fraser feels it like a mark he carries, certain it is evident to anyone who cares to look. In self-defense, he begins to leave his hat on, keeping the brim tilted down, the world viewed in careful half-measures.

For some reason Ray sounds a little hyperactive and aggressive lately, or maybe he's always sounded like that and Fraser relied on visual cues to gauge the seriousness of it. But Fraser can't look at Ray. Or at anything, apparently. Fraser starts tripping into things—trees, desks, lampposts, and the occasional half-wolf.

At night, alone, he confronts his almost-constant arousal. Removing his bedroll helps somewhat—the canvas of his cot is hard beneath his back, making him too uncomfortable to drift into the lazy sensuality that tempts him to fantasize when he's near sleep. He refuses to use Ray that way. It isn't fitting. It isn't right.

He must maintain the right.

But he doesn't sleep as well, and Ray starts to comment on his clumsiness. Fraser tears his uniform twice in two days, and has to don the brown while the reds are being repaired. At the end of the day, Ray offers him a ride and nods toward the door, giving a wave at the brown uniform.

"I guess no sentry duty without the fire engine suit, huh? That's a good thing." Ray sounds puzzled and a little concerned. Fraser risks a quick glimpse at him and sees the frown he's been trying to avoid—the frown Ray always adopts at the first sign of an interesting puzzle. There's eagerness behind his eyes, because Ray, being Ray, thoroughly enjoys any challenge. Fraser begins to fear discovery.

It isn't that he's afraid of losing Ray's friendship. Ray is a truer friend than that; Fraser has seen the proof in the way he interacts with his other acquaintances, some of them very odd ducks indeed. Fraser himself is probably the oddest friend Ray has, and Ray has put up with him remarkably so far. It's more that his pride can't bear the weight of Ray's pity.

"Fraser. Fraser. Fraser, dammit!"

Fraser looks up just in time to avoid charging headlong into the telephone pole outside the station. Ray is staring at him from just beyond, an exasperated expression on his face, the spikes of his hair fluttering in the strong Chicago wind.

Fraser opens his mouth to apologize yet again for his distraction, but just then the wind lifts the brim of his hat, blowing it away. Fraser spins and tries to snatch it out of the air, but his fingers miss. He runs after it, heedless of Ray's frustrated yell. Fraser is about to chase it out into the street when a hard weight lands on his back, flattening him to the asphalt.

A taxi speeds by, terrifyingly close to his face.

"Goddamn stupid Mountie!" Ray is ranting behind him. The street is hard and cold under him. He feels the burn of small injuries to his knees, his elbows. He fears he's ruined another uniform.

With a heavy sigh, Ray rolls away from him and goes muttering off. Fraser lifts himself from the pavement and inspects the damage. His knee got the worst of it, a dark patch testifying to a bloody scrape underneath the wool. He dusts himself down and looks up.

Ray is crossing the street back to him in his usual swaggering shuffle. He has Fraser's hat in one hand. Fraser reaches for it as Ray approaches, but Ray pulls it back.

"Nuh-uh. What we got here is a hostage situation, Fraser."

Fraser rolls the words over in his mind, uncomprehending. "Ray..." He reaches again for his hat.

He needs it.

Ray holds it away and starts walking. Fraser follows, drawn.

"Ray." God, he's tired. And aching. And he wants his hat. "If you would please return my hat."

"Not a chance, pal of mine. Not until you tell me what the heck is going on with you." Ray leads him to the GTO and unlocks the driver door, letting himself in. Fraser circles the back and finds the passenger side unlocked and waiting for him. He eases his way down onto the seat, immediately looking over.

Ray has Fraser's Stetson tucked next to his left leg and out of reach.

Fraser turns his gaze to the front window. This is awkward. He feels his face tighten with embarrassment that he's allowed the situation to reach these straits. If Ray hadn't been so quick on his feet, Fraser might have been seriously injured today.

"You've been acting really weird lately, buddy," Ray says after a long while.

Fraser looks down at the dashboard. The edge of the leather has curled away from the glue in one corner. A tiny sign of decay.

"Yeah, even freakier than usual. Staring into space, bumping into things, goofy-looking—like you're—"

Fraser swallows. His hands are empty. He doesn't know what to do with them. He looks longingly at his hat.

"I mean," Ray twists his head to look at him quickly, then back at the oncoming road, "not that there's anything _wrong_ with it, but it's kinda hard to go around fighting crime, making the bad guys shake, when your partner is acting like a guy who's-who's—"

"Enamored," Fraser cuts in, his voice creaky. "Besotted. Infatuated."

Ray lets out a harsh breath. "Well, yeah."

"Entranced. Smitten. Head over heels."

"I get it, Fraser," Ray says evenly. His head turns as he darts another quick glance across to him.

Fraser's hands are still empty, clenched on the seat next to his thighs. Ray eases the car to a stop and shuts off the engine. They've reached the Consulate, Fraser sees with some relief, although he doesn't imagine Ray will simply let him escape to the safety of its familiar confines.

He forces his hands to relax, clears his mind. His focus is narrow, the adrenaline easing, incredibly, now that the moment has finally arrived.

Ray clears his throat. "So...who is she? Anybody I know?" he asks quietly.

Fraser is utterly unprepared for the bitter explosion of laughter that wrenches his throat. He turns toward the window and clamps his jaw hard against the ugly sound.

"Fraser?"

Ray doesn't sound happy to have made Fraser laugh this time. He sounds worried. As well he should be.

Fraser's lips feel cold, and he needs his hat.

"You," he croaks out, "are acquainted with him. Since he, in fact, is you."

Silence. So complete that Fraser realizes Ray must be holding his breath along with him. It continues, painful and absolute, until Fraser exhales heavily and pulls the door handle, spilling himself out—away. He stumbles on the curb but manages to keep his feet for once, and pushes the door closed on the terrible silence.

It takes an appalling number of attempts for Fraser to fit the key into the lock, all the while listening for the GTO to start up once again. He's still waiting for the sound when he closes the door behind him.

His feet make a hollow echo as he walks back to his office. Diefenbaker lifts his head lazily and gives a single tail-wag of greeting, then suddenly jumps to his feet to trot over. Fraser kneels and accepts the bump of affection, the cold nose that whuffles in concern against his neck.

"It's okay, Dief. Just human problems."

Diefenbaker noses his knee and whines a little.

"A minor scratch. I've been a bit clumsy lately."

"I'll say. Son, have you taken leave of your senses?"

"Dad." Fraser stiffens and rises to his feet. He brushes uselessly at his uniform, then sighs and begins stripping. Another one for the cleaners. He has but the one brown left.

"It's that damned Yank, isn't it? You've been mooning over him for weeks now—"

"I'll thank you," Fraser says through the clench of his teeth, "to mind your own affairs, and keep your nose out of mine."

He meets his father's affronted expression. "Don't be rude, son. Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I can't still tan your hide."

"Actually, that's precisely what it means." Fraser allows himself a bitter smile. "Not that you were ever around to take advantage while you still had the opportunity."

His father makes a reproachful sound. Fraser winces but doesn't turn at the closing of the closet door. Instead, he walks over to his desk and removes the medicine kit from the bottom drawer. He's sitting on the cot in his boxers and applying ointment to his battered knee when Diefenbaker gives out a warning bark from the hallway.

Fraser hears the familiar footsteps a moment later. Hastily, he rises, looking for his pants.

It's too late. Ray is here. His eyes are ducking down and away, but he comes into the room, closer than Fraser would have expected, had he imagined that Ray would want to confront him again so soon. But then Ray has always exhibited a surfeit of courage.

Ray dances closer. "So, ah, did I get you right back there, Frase?"

Fraser is still searching distractedly for his pants. "Do you honestly expect me to repeat—?"

"Well, yeah." Ray's eyes meet his, finally. "Just want to make sure I got it all straight."

Fraser grimaces at the construction, looking down. His hat is in Ray's hand.

"My hat."

He reaches for it, but again Ray dodges back.

"Damn it!" The curse escapes him, and Fraser feels the flush burn past the collar of his shirt. He stiffens, seeking solace in formality. "Haven't you already extracted your pound of flesh?"

"Nope, not yet."

The tone brings Fraser's eyes back sharply to Ray's face, which seems to match his own in hue. The sight makes Fraser's groin ache in warning. It occurs to him his pants are probably right where they belong, in the closet. He pushes past Ray and yanks out a pair of jeans, fumbling in his haste to get his feet in the recalcitrant folds.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Ray's voice is oddly husky. Fraser stumbles back against the closet door, one leg inserted. The doorknob digs sharply against his hip as he balances against it.

Ray is smiling shyly at him. Blue. His eyes are terrifyingly blue, the still, deep blue of a glacier in summer.

"Wh-why not?" Oh, but he knows the answer. And it scares him, even as he drops his pants and steps out of the tangled cloth. Ray is holding out his hat like bait, and Fraser takes another step toward him, reaching out.

"Well, it'd just be a waste of effort, is all. Efficiency, Fraser—I know how important that is to a freak like you."

"Yes. I—that is, I hold it in great—"

Ray's hand is warm on his forearm. Warm and slightly damp. The brim of Fraser's hat edges against his stomach, and Fraser takes it. His numb fingers release it almost immediately, dropping it carelessly to the floor. Now there is nothing between them but air, and _want_. Fraser looks down and sees the evidence of it in the rapid pulse beating in Ray's throat, in the hardening bulge below the black of Ray's leather belt.

Fraser lets out a shaky breath, and then slides both hands under Ray's jacket until they meet behind the small of his back. Ray pulls him even closer, and the soft stubble of his cheek brushes against Fraser's neck. Fraser feels a shaking, and thinks for a moment that Ray is laughing at him, that this is a cruel joke, but then he realizes that he is the one trembling, and the tremors make him grip harder in reaction, as if Ray can ground him.

Ray brushes his cheek higher, rasping against Fraser's jaw, and then his mouth is sneaking up to touch Fraser's.

"Mmmm," Ray hums against his lips, moving back and forth in a sliding, tender kiss that eases Fraser's shock. He would have thought Ray would be harsher than this, his energy and aggression transmitting in this new form. But Ray's lips are a soft, sensuous seduction. Fraser melts helplessly against him, unable to stop a soft murmur of his own, a pleasure sound that causes Ray's lips to curve upward beneath his.

The zipper from Ray's jacket is digging into the side of Fraser's throat, and he eases his hands out of the embrace to push the leather from Ray's shoulders. Ray catches Fraser's lower lip, sucking on it as if to keep him within kissing range. Then Ray licks at Fraser's mouth. Fraser draws in a harsh breath, and Ray presses his advantage, slipping his tongue between Fraser's lips.

Like a spark to tinder, the kiss ignites past lazy sensuality to something deeper and more shocking. This was the possession Fraser had anticipated, and the coiled power of Ray's body pressing against his makes Fraser's hands clench hard in reaction on Ray's narrow hips. Ray's groan is loud and needy, and he shoves his erection against Fraser's. Fraser's excitement becomes almost unbearable.

Ray pulls on him, hard, and he stumbles forward, crushing Ray against his office door. He thrusts his tongue into Ray's mouth at last, seeking the taste of him, sweet and hot spice.

"Oh, boy. Oh, boy," Ray whispers in between engagements. Fraser can only agree soundlessly. He lets Ray's tongue play in his mouth. He's not sure, any longer, what terrified him so, since this is so pleasurable, so much of what he needed.

Ray pushes him backward, step-by-step, still possessing his mouth. Stepping back blindly, Fraser is surprised when his cot hits him in his calf. He tumbles down, Ray's fist in his Henley helping to control the fall and prevent a painful knock to his skull.

Then Ray makes a tsking sound. "Such a klutz lately. It's just not like you, Fraser." His smile is teasing.

"No, I—this isn't like me at all," Fraser confesses.

Ray cocks his head as if he's listening to something. "You weren't expecting this."

It isn't a question, but Fraser answers anyway. He can't do anything but tell the truth now, with Ray's eyes beaming down at him, stern as an archangel.

"No. I never thought you could want this. Want _me_." He forces the last part out in an embarrassed whisper.

"But you told me anyway." Ray's face lightens. "That's real good, Fraser. That means you're finally getting it." He settles on the cot, a knee on each side of Fraser's legs.

"Getting what?" Fraser is finding it hard to breathe. Ray is so close; so warm and hard and alive.

"That we're a team. Partners, right? You and me, buddy, down the line." Ray rests his hand on Fraser's chest, right over his heart.

Fraser swallows hard. "I...yes, Ray. If you please."

A sudden, startling grin splits Ray's face, crinkling his eyes. "Yes, Fraser, I please. I'm gonna please myself all over you."

Ray proceeds to make good on his threat, tearing at Fraser's shirt with no patience at all, almost catching Fraser's erection in the folds of his boxers as he relieves him of them. Fraser lies helpless under the attack, his mind still on Ray's words, so that when he feels the first, firm press of Ray's lips on the head of his erection he almost catapults Ray off the bed.

"Whoa. Whoa, there, bronco!" Ray is grinning up at him, his long body stretched between Fraser's legs. At some point Ray has stripped himself nude.

All except for Fraser's hat. Which is on his head.

"My hat," Fraser says stupidly.

Ray's grin widens, and he slowly lowers his chin. The brim of the Stetson hides his next actions, but Fraser feels them in every part of his being, and has to bite his lip against a groan as Ray's tongue meanders its way lightly down the shaft of his erection.

"Please," Fraser gasps. "Take it off."

Ray raises his head again, his eyes still filled with mischief. "How come?"

"It's...what you're doing...an affront to the dignity of the uniform," Fraser says, still breathless with pleasure.

Ray cocks an eyebrow. "You want me to stop?"

"No! I want...I want to see."

"See what?" Ray asks disingenuously. His tongue wets his lower lip.

"I want to see your mouth on me," Fraser admits hoarsely. "Your beautiful mouth..."

Ray's smile disappears completely, and his eyes grow deep. He lifts the Stetson from his head and gives it a casual toss. Fraser doesn't bother to watch it land. His gaze is locked on that beautiful mouth as it lowers, tongue sneaking out to meet Fraser's aching hardness.

Fraser's eyes close against his will at the wash of pleasure as he is taken in, taken deep into the wet, swirling heat.

"Ahh," he moans softly, trying to contain it, and Ray responds by sucking harder before releasing him to the cold air.

"Let me hear you," Ray says.

Fraser doesn't want to be alone in his pleasure, under observation. He sits up, strokes the soft stubble of Ray's cheek before tugging gently at Ray's side. "Please, Ray. Together?"

Ray shifts around awkwardly on the narrow cot then aligns himself with Fraser, the white skin of his hip soft under Fraser's fingers as he turns onto his side. Ray bends one leg, and Fraser rests his head on Ray's thigh to press his face into Ray's groin.

So intimate, so close. Fraser nuzzles the heavy testicles, giving a cautious lick. The texture is fascinating, rough under his tongue. He feels the whuff of Ray's gasp before Ray reclaims his erection, sucking him in.

Fraser takes it as a challenge and tries to emulate him. The awkward mechanics become a side-thought as Ray's flavor tingles along his taste buds. So good, to have the thick weight of him in his mouth and thrusting against his tongue. He feels every moan Ray gives, transmitted as vibration, as distinct pleasure. Fraser groans in response and is treated with a bubble of pre-ejaculate and a slight jerk in the shaft he is loving with his mouth.

This is what he wanted. Together, writhing and thrusting, creatures of instinct and desire, no thought or hesitation.

He feels Ray's hand squeezing his buttocks, a peculiar sensation, and then fingers sliding between, stroking him with an intimacy that shocks and delights. Fraser reciprocates, and Ray's startled moan is followed by a pulsing against Fraser's tongue. Suddenly his mouth is filled with Ray's emissions, thick and salty, stinging his tongue oddly. He tries to swallow, and Ray jerks and yells, thrusting deeper into Fraser's mouth.

Fraser makes a mess of it, coughing and pulling away. His own erection is cool, slick and damp in the air. He rallies himself to lick gently at Ray's softening penis, cleaning the traces of semen from the delicate skin.

Ray pushes on his hip, flattening him to the bed, and takes him back in, his hand working the base of Fraser's shaft. Three sharp tugs and the sucking heat around him pull the orgasm from him, and Fraser can't help grunting in his release, the pleasure overwhelming.

He becomes aware that Ray has shifted again to join him on the pillow and is petting him soothingly, calloused fingers running up and down Fraser's ribs.

"Ray," Fraser says, his voice thick and unrecognizable.

Ray leans in and nuzzles him, the scent of his breath musky. Fraser lifts his head to claim a kiss—his right. They are lovers, now. He and Ray. Regardless what is to come, the gift of it fills his heart with gratitude.

"Fraser, man, you are too, too much."

"Me?" Fraser is at a loss to articulate how Ray has gotten it entirely backward. Instead, he grasps Ray's face between his hands and presses their foreheads together, trying to communicate all his profound delight and relief and love through the pressure of skin and bone.

"Yeah?" There's laughter in Ray's voice.

"Yes, Ray. If it's all right with you."

"More than all right. Total greatness." They stay still, so close, and Fraser breathes for a little while, taking in this change.

After too short a time, Ray gives him a swift kiss and then stands up. "I guess we'll have to shelve it for another twenty hours or so, though. Because I _don't_ think the Ice Queen Inspector-lady would be too thrilled to find me here tangling your sheets in the morning." He bends to pick up his pants.

"Ah. Yes." Fraser grabs the top sheet and uses it to clean up before bundling it into a ball and tossing it toward the closet.

"Messy, messy," Ray chides. He's already half-dressed, and Fraser regrets not taking more of an opportunity to explore the golden skin that is now hidden from view. He closes his eyes, not wanting to watch Ray leave.

"I expect to be at the station around noon," Fraser says hesitantly.

"Sounds peachy." There is a rough jangle of zippers—Ray's jacket. And then Ray is leaning over him, smelling of leather and musk. A soft press of lips against his, and then Ray pulls away.

"Tomorrow, Fraser." His voice is firm, confident and joyful.

"Yes." Fraser is escaping into sleep already, trying to elude the cold, lonely sound of Ray's departure.

He drifts, body humming, mind a careful blank. Just before Fraser falls asleep, he turns to smell the pillow where Ray's head had rested.

Sitting there, as if in promise, is the Stetson.

_Tomorrow,_ Fraser thinks, and he smiles.


End file.
